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I like to show off my boobs. After all I have worked hard for them, in fact, it has been more than that. As a child, I knew that the body I had been borne with did not fit and as the years passed and my friends at school (female friends) started to blossom into young women, I realized that I wished I was one of them.

And so as soon as I was able to work, my priority was to save as much money to transfer my body into what my mind and soul had always so longed for. A beautiful female body with the boobs and the curves, the tight waist and the legs. And so, one after the other, the marvels of modern medicine, added with the skills of a wonderful surgeon and of course lots and lots of money, my transformation started to take place. And slowly, painstakingly, this pretty boy that I once was morphed into a glorious woman, a beauty with a killer look and a body that a lot of women envy.

Yes, I like to show off my boobs, and my legs and everything else of course. I enjoy the look on people’s faces when I enter a room. It never fails. Men or women, conversations they might have had previous to my entrance usually fade away as they take in the full measure of my feminity. It’s always the same. First it is the women who notice me. Something about me attracts them and it usually irritates them as they never did consider themselves to be bisexual. Something in the intensity of this woman they look at, a definite strength in her movements, nearly masculine.

And then the men. They stare with a lust that nearly always turns me as much as the women’s. They look at my face, and at my boobs, and then their stare lingers lower to my hips, my center, my legs. And when their conversation finally resumes, I already know which one of them I will be bringing home.

I have been asked many times whether the reason for my transformation was to hide the fact that I was inherently gay. This is not true of course; I am not gay, although bisexuality runs through my veins, and the thought of possessing another man is as much a mental then a physical turn on.

Yes, I realize there is something inherently wild about a shemale, or so I am told. Something exciting, forbidden, taboo.

And whilst I do “take” men (literally and biblically take as I am mostly dominant in my relationship with men) sex with women is high on the list of my sexual preferences.

And so, when the women who’s sense I have turned find themselves at my mercy, they finally discover what it was about me that really turned them on. It’s not the beautiful body or the pretty face, the way I move or talk. It’s the dawning that underneath my female charm, lies something oh so masculine, and which women crave for: A big, hard and long cock that stands to attention when I eventually disrobe. Upon that sight, the women seem relieved as if the fact that I have a fully functional dick reaffirms them in their perceived role of heterosexual women. They immediately make my cock the object of their attention, but quickly shift their passion to my breasts, that part of me that is so female. The men on the other side take a borrowed look of surprise and even disgust as if they would never touch it, after all, they are everything by gay! And instead of running at the sight of my raging erection they instead stay and make my breasts the object of their attention. Then, always, it is my cock they turn to, and they embrace it as if there was no tomorrow.